The Straight and Narrow
by fiologica
Summary: Bad and naughty fledglings get sent to Aziraphale's bookshop (OR: A fledgling angel is on the receiving end of repeated pranks from her mentor; Aziraphale asks questions and offers reassurance.)


The Straight and Narrow

_Or: "Bad and naughty fledglings get sent to Aziraphale's bookshop"_

The first time it happened, Aziraphale was not entirely sure which of the pair of them was being pranked. To all appearances, the fledgling was but a normal young woman. There was something very slightly 'holy' in her aura, a warmth that wrapped around her. If Aziraphale squinted, he could just make out her wings, some baby fluff here and there in amongst the mature feathers that had grown in. Yet, she had none of the haughtiness of some of the older angels, and was just as confused as he was about the nature of her errand.

She had addressed him ever so politely, too, called him 'Mr. Aziraphale', and 'sir'. Then she had given him the reason for her visit.

"Please, sir," said the fledgling, looking at the piece of paper in her hand, "I was asked to retrieve a book by Ben Dover?"

Aziraphale couldn't possibly fathom why she had been sent to the book shop to carry out such an obvious prank. He squinted at her for a moment, brows furrowing. The fledgling did not appear to realize what she had asked, and was looking at the paper again. No smirk crossed her expression, there was no malice in her gaze. Only puzzlement and uncertainty.

Aziraphale offered a small smile and shook his head. Mercy, after all, is not strained, and falls as gentle rain upon the place beneath.

"I'm sorry, my dear, I'm afraid I have no books by an author named Ben Dover," he told her kindly. "I think you have been sent on a fool's errand."

"Oh," said the fledgling, her face falling. Colour rose in her cheeks, and she slipped the piece of paper into her coat pocket. "I'm sorry to have bothered you, sir."

"Not at all, my dear," said Aziraphale gently, "if ever you find you should need anything, I will be here."

A few weeks later, the fledgling - whose name turned out to be Neriah - returned to the shop. Her perplexed expression told Aziraphale instantly that she had been subjected to another prank as she held out the piece of paper in her hand.

"I think I've been sent on another fool's errand," Neriah told him, frowning.

Aziraphale took a look at the piece of paper. A request for a book by an author named Tarran Feather. He sighed, removing his glasses and slipping them into his pocket.

"I'm sorry, my dear, I believe you might be right," he said, passing the piece of paper back to her. "Tarran Feather, indeed…"

"Sir?"

Of course Neriah was not going to understand the turn of phrase. Aziraphale shook his head.

"Nevermind, dear," he murmured. "It doesn't matter."

Another week went by, and then once more, Neriah returned. On this day, Aziraphale was in the back room, working on restoring an old volume to its former glory. Crowley was minding the store instead. Aziraphale had, of course, mentioned the incidents, so when Neriah approached the counter to ask for Aziraphale, it was hard to avoid smirking down at her, knowing she had been sent to carry out yet another prank - or rather, to have a prank carried out upon her.

"Please, sir, is Mr. Aziraphale in?" Neriah asked. Crowley nearly started at the polite way that she addressed him. Did she not realize he was a demon? A fallen angel? Formerly one of the adversary's servants?

"Busy, I'm afraid," said Crowley, recovering, furrowing his brows. "Can I help you?"

Neriah looked down at the paper in her hand, and she bit her lip, uncertain, shifting from foot to foot.

"It's just that I've been sent to ask for 'A Weight And A Long Stand'," Neriah told him. "It sounds like a false title, but I thought if I could ask him…"

Crowley mouthed the words to himself, looking the young fledgling up and down, before finally realizing what she had said. He cleared his throat to conceal the laughter bubbling up from within, schooling his features into disinterested coolness.

"Right, 'A Weight And A Long Stand'," said Crowley, nodding deliberately. "If you stay here, I'll just go and ask…"

Once he was safely out of view, the laughter overtook him, and he shook with silent mirth as he doubled over. Oh, that was genius, that was. It seemed Neriah's mentor had the makings of a magnificent bastard.

A wait and a long stand! Brilliant!

Once he had recovered, Crowley straightened and went to find Aziraphale, who merely shook his head and sighed.

"I wonder if I shouldn't have a word with her mentor," said Aziraphale, cleaning his glasses before setting them aside. "It seems she is being sent on these little errands by way of punishment. It would be far more effective to simply explain her error than to embarrass her, as she does not appear to be learning from the experience, if these repeat visits are anything to go by."

"Is that the kind of thing your lot tend towards nowadays? Hazing fledglings?"

"Surely not," said Aziraphale sharply, glaring at Crowley disapprovingly. If looks could discorporate, Crowley would have been filling out paperwork in Hell. Both of them knew very well what their respective - former - sides were capable of, but… to think of it being applied to fledglings, who were surely the most innocent and inexperienced of the angels, seemed to trouble Aziraphale.

"How long has she been waiting?" Aziraphale asked at last, checking his pocket watch. It was nearly mid-afternoon. Perhaps it was time to take a break from the repairs he was working on.

"At least ten, fifteen minutes?" Crowley waggled his hand in a gesture of uncertainty. "Dunno, didn't look at the clock."

"I think this calls for a cup of tea," said Aziraphale, getting to his feet. "Why don't we invite Neriah into the backroom for a chat?"

Five minutes later, an angel, a demon, and a fledgling sat down for tea and cake. Neriah, of course, had never experienced tea, or cake. Crowley couldn't help a giggle as the fledgling's eyes widened at how sweet the cake was. She nearly choked, and Aziraphale rubbed her back, passing her cup of tea to her, encouraging her to take a drink before she tried again. Neriah gulped her tea, putting her plate down on the table, shaking.

"I think perhaps you might want to stick to tea for now, my dear," said Aziraphale, still rubbing her back, infusing the movements with a small amount of healing energy to help her to recover. "I'm sorry, I sometimes forget that not everyone is used to food."

"Is all food that sweet?" Asked Neriah, pausing to cough into her hand. She took another sip of tea to calm herself, the shaking slowly starting to fade.

"Not all of it," said Aziraphale, "but cake usually is; the sweetness matches well with the bitterness of the tea, I find."

"Interesting," Neriah commented, continuing to sip her tea. "I think I like the bitterness, myself, and the - the - how do I describe it? The lemon, I mean?"

"Sharp? Sour?"

"Sharp," Neriah nodded. "It cuts through the sweetness and washes it away. It cleanses."

Aziraphale smiled slightly. He had never thought he would find himself discussing the finer points of tea with another ethereal being, much less a fledgling who did not have the vocabulary to do so. Yet, there was something delightful in educating the fledgling sitting in his back room.

Speaking of educating…

Aziraphale returned to his seat, sparing a quick shared glance with Crowley, and then his expression became more serious, his smile fading. He swallowed down the doubts, and then at last, spoke up.

"My dear, if I may, I think there is something we need to discuss," he said, looking down into his cup of tea for a moment, and then back up at Neriah.

"Sir?"

"I ah… I can't help but notice the… regularity with which you are being sent here," Aziraphale paused, looking for the right words to express his thoughts. "I did wonder at first if perhaps someone was attempting to play a prank upon both of us…"

"A prank?"

"A practical joke; a jape; the… finding of fun at another's expense," explained Aziraphale.

Neriah did not reply, and seemed to be taking this in, furrowing her brows as she sipped her tea. Aziraphale's heart broke for her. Finding out that someone who should have your best interests at heart actually didn't… he knew how much that could hurt.

"Why would they do that?" She asked at last, looking up at Aziraphale.

"Because they're bastards," Crowley muttered. Aziraphale shot him a sharp glance.

"Language."

"Sorry. Because they're _fucking_ bastards."

"Crowley!"

Neriah, mercifully, did not seem to understand the implications of what had been said, and merely stared at them both in confusion.

"I regret that you may have been on the receiving end of a deliberate attempt to… well, I believe the goal of these pranks may have been that they wished for me to scold you for a minor offense," said Aziraphale slowly, phrasing his thoughts carefully. "Knowing this, may I ask what lead up to each of these incidents?"

Neriah stared blankly, blinking. It seemed she was just as clueless as to what could have triggered these errands. Then, she looked away, her cheeks suddenly colouring, and her eyes widened as if realizing her mistake.

"Yeup, I thought so," said Crowley, smirking. "Someone's been a bad and naughty angel."

"Crowley," warned Aziraphale, darting a disapproving glance at him.

"Got something you want to tell us, _mon ange_?" Crowley continued, teasing. "A little confession to make, perhaps?"

"Crowley, please!"

Neriah's entire posture had tensed, as if she was frozen in place, scarcely daring to breath. It was as if sheer horror had gripped her at the very thought of admitting to potential wrongdoing. Aziraphale understood that feeling all too well - all angels, regardless of rank, held the same basic fear, the same terror at the thought of falling.

"A confession…" Neriah whispered, almost a prayer for salvation, staring down at her tea cup. Shaking slightly, she put her cup down on the table, and shuffled from her seat, falling down onto her knees at Aziraphale's feet.

"Oh," murmured Aziraphale. Really, he was sure Crowley hadn't meant that so literally, but if Neriah needed this moment, then… perhaps he could calm whatever sorrow, whatever dread had seized her heart and mind.

Aziraphale gingerly rested a hand upon her head, and said softly, "would you like me to hear your confession, my dear?"

"Please, yes," said Neriah quietly, as if she couldn't trust her voice not to break, bowing her head.

"Very well," said Aziraphale, speaking gently so as not to frighten her further, nodding his permission for her to go on ahead. "Please, tell me what has happened."

Neriah took a moment or two to gather her thoughts, to find the words she needed, to take a steadying breath, to swallow past the trepidation that seemed to be surging within her.

"I think," she said slowly, closing her eyes tight, seemingly to avoid Aziraphale's gaze, "I think… I… _might_…" She was shaking now, trying to keep going, but her voice betrayed her, cracking as she went on. "I might… have been… _disobedient_."

Neriah crumpled, dissolving into tears, hugging Aziraphale's knees and burying her face in her arms, utter shame and mortification evident in the crimson of her blush.

Noticing that Crowley was about to pass comment, Aziraphale cut him off with a stern glance before turning his attention back to the fledgling sobbing into his knees. He leaned forward, and rested a hand on her shoulder, making soft shushing noises by way of reassurance.

"It's all right, darling, it's all right," said Aziraphale kindly. "You're safe here, you're not in any trouble."

Neriah took a shaking, shuddering breath and a wail escaped her before she could speak.

"There's so much suffering in the world, so many people in pain," she sobbed, taking another unsteady breath. "I want to help, but Adriel says there's only so much we can do, and I… I helped people anyway, and every time I do, she sends me away."

Neriah sniffled wretchedly, brushing at her nose. "I didn't think I was doing anything wrong, but -"

"You're not," said Aziraphale firmly, his expression stricken with grief, blue eyes watery, as if he had absorbed the searing sorrow Neriah exuded. "Oh, my dear, I am so sorry to have made you feel so terrible."

"No, no," Neriah shook her head vehemently. "I disobeyed orders," she protested, shuddering as tears welled up and fell like heavy rain. "I disobeyed orders," she repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged glances. There had been a time when merely asking questions, or hanging out with the wrong crowd, could result in a fall from grace. Aziraphale himself had given away one of God's gifts to him in the name of mercy and compassion, and then lied about it to Her face. Both angel and demon had answered to their respective sides for their own disobedience in the coming of the end times.

"You have done nothing wrong," said Aziraphale at last, taking a steadying breath. "Sometimes... Sometimes, orders can be unjust. It is just as much our duty to know when they are, and to do what it is _right_. Even if it goes against our orders."

"But what if I Fall?" Neriah effortlessly pronounced the capital F of the one apprehension all angels held.

"My dear," said Aziraphale, rubbing her shoulder with a thumb soothingly, "that is not going to happen." He paused a moment, vacillating on whether to tell Neriah or not, the angel and demon of his mind arguing back and forth, before he finally made his decision. "I should know; I have… admittedly done a few things that should, by all rights, have resulted in a Fall."

"You?!" Neriah's eyes went wide as she stared up at him, clearly stunned by this pronouncement.

"Mmhm," Aziraphale hummed. "Gave away my flaming sword to the first humans."

"Who promptly used it to kill a lion," Crowley added.

"Mm," Aziraphale murmured, rueful. "But it did help them to survive… kept them warm and safe until they could find shelter."

"Aziraphale here also befriended the Serpent of Eden, who - by the way - is in this room," said Crowley, grinning mischievously.

Neriah's face paled, and she leaned slightly closer to Aziraphale, as if to hide behind him. In turn, Aziraphale rested his free hand on her head for a moment, a gesture that promised safety and assurance.

"He may be a wily serpent," said Aziraphale fondly, smiling slightly, "but he doesn't bite."

"Oi!"

Crowley made a face and snapped his jaws at the air as if to take a bite out of Aziraphale, who laughed softly. Then, the angel's smile turned sad as he went on.

"We went against Heaven and Hell to stop the apocalypse," said Aziraphale quietly. "We, ah… well, our respective sides disowned us both, but…"

"But you're still an angel," said Neriah, a hint of admiration warming her tone.

"That I am," replied Aziraphale, nodding.

The tension seemed to have drained out of the room, something more peaceful between the three of them as silence fell.

"If you would like," said Aziraphale thoughtfully, "I could speak to your mentor - Adriel, wasn't it?"

Neriah froze up again, her posture suddenly becoming tense, as if she was about to bolt from the room, suddenly reminded of what had found her on the floor at Aziraphale's feet in the first place.

"Only if you want me to, mind you," Aziraphale added gently by way of reassurance. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"Is it OK if I think about it?" Neriah asked at last, her voice wavering as if a bout of crying was about to strike again.

"Of course, my dear," said Aziraphale softly.

"Thank you."

Silence descended, save for Neriah dabbing at her eyes and snuffling a little as she tried to recover from the tears that had overcome her. She took a deep breath, and then spoke up.

"I… because I disobeyed orders, I still worry that I committed a sin," she admitted with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Mr. Aziraphale."

"You don't need to apologize," said Aziraphale, shaking his head. Even if there was a call for an apology, he was certainly not the person - or being - owed such, and-

"I think it's more than that, Angel," said Crowley, interrupting Aziraphale's thoughts. "Think she's asking forgiveness."

Aziraphale looked down at Neriah, at her pleading expression, felt the hope tinging the sorrow in her aura, the sincerity of her words and feelings. He reached out, resting his hand atop her head as if in benediction. This much he could provide.

"I forgive you," he said kindly, his words carrying the holy weight of a blessing. "May you be at peace."

Neriah snuffled and dabbed at her nose with her tissue. "Amen."

"Go," Crowley intoned, mimicking the manner of a certain holy man. "Go, and sin no more!"

**END**


End file.
